


Gift

by INMH



Series: trope-bingo Fanfiction Fills 2018 (1st Half) [21]
Category: The Alienist (TV), The Alienist - Caleb Carr
Genre: Birthday, F/M, Family, Fluff, Romance, sHE DESERVES THIS FLUFFY SHIT OKAY, vague references to past child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-05 16:38:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14048409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INMH/pseuds/INMH
Summary: Mary’s birthday in the Kreizler home.





	Gift

Before she’d come into Dr. Kreizler’s employment, Mary Palmer had never enjoyed birthdays.  
  
Her father- who she thought about only in nightmares now- had a particular way of marking the annual passage of her life that Mary shuddered to remember now; and no one else had been interested in celebrating the life of a girl who was too stupid to speak, never mind write.  
  
With that low of a bar, it was difficult _not_ to feel special, especially considering that Dr. Kreizler and Cyrus and Stevie did care for her quite a bit.  
  
[---]  
  
“Happy birthday, Mary!”  
  
Cyrus wrapped his arms around her, lifted her off the ground in a warm bear-hug that made Mary laugh. He was a big man, and he was nearly a head taller than Mary; his hugs were usually nice.  
  
When he set her down, Cyrus smiled and held something out to her. “I’d have wrapped it, but wrapping paper with paper seemed a bit redundant.”  
  
Mary took the paper and examined it: It was a surprisingly detailed drawing of a vase of flowers with fine lines and bright colors, complete with eerily realistic shading. Mary made a point of keeping some around whenever she could, and it seemed that this had been based off a bouquet from last month, made of sunflowers. It was an excellent drawing; Mary hadn’t even known Cyrus was so artistically inclined. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him again; it was a far easier way of saying ‘thank you’ than trying to force her aphasic mind to make the words come out of her mouth correctly.  
  
“I think Stevie’s got something for you too,” Cyrus said.  
  
Mary turned, and saw young Stevie standing there, hands folded behind his back, looking pink-cheeked and uncomfortable. With a mumble of ‘happy birthday’, he pulled out his gift.  
  
It was made of metal, and for a moment it was difficult for Mary to figure out what it was- but then she realized that it was a flower (evidently her fondness for flowers was apparent to everyone in the household). Stevie had fashioned different pieces of metal into the shape of a daisy, and- upon further inspection- he’d even used different colors of metal to give the flower a sort of striped effect. It was surprisingly lovely, and Mary beamed.  
  
She accepted the flower gratefully, and kissed him on the cheek.  
  
Stevie, bless him, looked utterly embarrassed.  
  
“I mean, I tried.”  
  
[---]  
  
It seemed that flowers were to be the theme of the day.  
  
Mr. Moore grinned, held out the bouquet of roses and tulips out to her. “Happy birthday, Mary!” He said brightly. “Come and sit with me for a while!”  
  
Mary might have thought of this as flirting from anyone but Mr. Moore. He was terribly sweet to her, but never went any further than that; it felt a bit like having a friendly cousin. In any case, she wasn’t sure that Dr. Kreizler would react well to Mr. Moore being _too_ sweet with her.  
  
She nodded, _yes, I’ll sit,_ but held up a finger to signify she needed a moment- she wanted to put the flowers in water before they could wilt. When she went to go to the kitchen, however, Mr. Moore seemed to panic.  
  
“You don’t need to go in there!” He said quickly, taking her by the hand and pulling her away from the door. “Why would you need to go in there? There’s nothing in there! Don’t worry about the kitchen!” He froze. “Or the dining room. That either. Nothing in there at all.”  
  
Sometimes, Mr. Moore had all the subtlety of a rock breaking a window.  
  
Mary nodded and fought a smile. She didn’t know exactly what was going on in the other rooms, but obviously it was something to do with her, and the thought excited her, so she was content to play along with Mr. Moore’s sad attempt at a ruse.  
  
She pointed to the flowers, and Mr. Moore seemed to get her meaning almost immediately. “Let me do that for you! It’s your birthday, after all!”  
  
He hurried into the kitchen, throwing a look over his shoulder to make sure she hadn’t followed him. Mary heard loud whispering in the kitchen- one of the voices sounded like Dr. Kreizler, and the other sounded like Cyrus. She couldn’t hear what was said, but after a moment, Mr. Moore returned with the flowers in a vase and the same broad smile he’d been wearing before.  
  
“There we are, all set- come, come! Sit!”  
  
Mary put the vase on a table, and only when her back was turned to Mr. Moore did she allow herself to giggle silently for a few seconds.  
  
[---]  
  
Mary had to give Mr. Moore credit: There weren’t many people outside of Dr. Kreizler’s house that had the patience to endure a conversation with a person who couldn’t actually speak, and had to use hand motions to indicate what she meant. But if Mr. Moore was bored, or frustrated, he didn’t signify it- he never did, and that was part of what made Mary so fond of him.  
  
Every now and then, there was a brief noise from the kitchen area, a few words, usually in German- Dr. Kreizler would, in the (usually, anyway) rare moments that he swore, switch to German so that no one would understand exactly what he was saying- but apart from that there were just little noises indicating that _something_ was going on, but nothing that gave away exactly what it was.  
  
“Jesus, Laszlo,” Mr. Moore muttered when a particularly long string of hissed, unrecognizable words came from the kitchen. “You know this is why he doesn’t go near the kitchen, right? It’s like the cutlery just _hates_ him.”  
  
Mary laughed; the image was a strangely hilarious one.  
  
Around five o’ clock, Mr. Moore excused himself and slid into the dining room (whose doors were closed).  
  
“You scared me,” Dr. Kreizler’s voice, muffled, could be heard.  
  
“And you scared me with that bit of language you used earlier. I’ve known you since we were ten, Laszlo, I understand more German than I think you realize. Are you ready or not?”  
  
“Yes, yes, go get her.”  
  
Mr. Moore popped his head back into the sitting room. “Mary, why don’t you come in now? We have a surprise for you!”  
  
(“Very subtle, Moore.”  
  
“Shut up, Kreizler.”)  
  
Mary entered the dining room, and pressed a hand over her mouth when she saw what they’d done:  
  
The lights were out, and there was a birthday cake on the table; Dr. Kreizler, Mr. Moore, Cyrus and Stevie were all present.  
  
“Go on, take a seat,” Mr. Moore said, pulling out her chair for her.  
  
Mary, overwhelmed with something that felt _wonderful_ , sat down.  
   
[---]  
   
Dinner was lovely.  
  
When Mr. Moore and Stevie cleared the table, Mary tried to indicate that she could do the dishes tomorrow- but they shook their heads and assured her that they could take care of them. No less than two minutes after they’d gone into the kitchen, there had been at least three crashes, and Cyrus had rolled his eyes and gone off to help them.  
  
That left Mary alone with Dr. Kreizler, and that made her flush.  
  
“Have you had a good day?” Dr. Kreizler asked, smiling at her.  
  
Mary nodded. _He’s so handsome when he smiles,_ she thought.  
  
“I have something for you.” He handed Mary a small, wrapped package; she thought it was a book until she opened it and saw that it was a notebook. “I know writing is difficult for you,” Dr. Kreizler said (Mary suffered from agraphia as well as aphasia, and much of what she wrote came out as gibberish unless she concentrated very, very hard), “But I thought it might be nice to have something to write it, with no pressure to be clear or perfect. Or you can draw, if you prefer- it can be whatever you want it to be.”  
  
Mary was taken with the possibility of drawing; perhaps she could draw out the events of a day, like the little drawings in the newspaper, rather than trying to write them with words. Dr. Kreizler stood up, and so did Mary. Bashfully, she stepped around the corner of the table and tentatively wrapped her arms around him in a hug; he reciprocated it gently.  
  
“Happy birthday, Mary.”  
  
Dr. Kreizler kissed her on the cheek.  
  
Mary’s face went hot.  
  
It was definitely one of her better birthdays, without a doubt.  
   
-End


End file.
